His New Spaniel
by lemonpiefirefly
Summary: Mycroft decides to vet the new addition to his brother's circle. Mycroft POV set after the meeting between Mycroft and Watson in "A Study in Pink". Quoted dialogue is from the show, written by Steven Moffat. Spoilers for that scene. Mild salty language.


A/N: Mycroft POV shortly after the events of the meeting with Dr John Watson in the BBC episode of Sherlock "A Study in Pink". Quoted dialogue within the story is directly from the episode, written by Steven Moffat. The quoted texts are my own words. "T" for mild salty language.

Clearly, I own no stake in "Sherlock" the series. I am ecstatic that they exist and will buy everything they try to sell me to keep them producing these fantastic shows. Martin Freeman is the strangest yet best Watson imaginable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
>His New Spaniel<br>~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This is an interesting development. Interesting indeed.

I sent for the man. I needed to see for myself what kind of pet dear Sherlock has decided to keep. That in itself was an oddity; a planet wobbling right out of its orbit would be on par with the fact that my brother had deigned to cohabit for a flat share. I set in motion another discrete inquiry into Sherlock's finances. If his funds were being drained by extra-curricular activities again, it was best to head that off now before it involved this medical man who could make quite a stink if he was so inclined.

Certainly, I had plenty of access to this Dr John Watson's past at my fingertips, so that was a good beginning to it. A doctor, so his education and licenses left a paper trail easily followed straight to the man himself. Then also his military service, time abroad, and time in military hospital left little undocumented.

There were not many distinguishing marks but for those mental and physical blemishes that any man who has spent time at war may gather about themselves, like grains of sand clinging to a beach goer. From all accounts, he was well-liked, well-decorated, and good at his profession. Then abruptly he had fallen to a rather grey half-existence since his release from the service. It suggested his time in the military was not foist upon him from an overinflated feeling of duty; all signs suggested he truly felt his place had been there. The implications of that upon his ability to transition to civilian life were certainly a bit of a concern. There weren't many skeletons in his closet, though; that unfortunate business of a dipsomaniac sister would hold little sway in the blackmail circles. Half the members of Parliament had far worse in their own families.

So it would come down to actually meeting the man. "Theorizing without data is a capital mistake." That is one area in which my brother and I agree. I set up a little obstacle course of sorts on which to test the pup. The test began fairly well. His curiosity was piqued by the ringing call boxes – I have always loved that little bit of showmanship with the CCTV cameras – and he acquiesced and got into the car fairly readily.

He evinced no blustering about when he was shown the score. A practical man, then; as expected, not given to ill-advised attempts at heroics without need. Ever the soldier, he followed where he was led. Anthea was impressed with his fairly calm reaction. He wasn't climbing all over himself to get out of the car or learn what was going on like so many do. Just quietly took it all in, and asked a couple of questions.  
>Ah, here was the text from Anthea. <p>

**Has his eyes and ears open and isn't playing into the show. - A**.

Decent praise from her. She has set up quite a few of these private audiences for me.

Soon enough, there was the man in front of me. He walked steadily up to me with that ridiculous limp of his, looking about and yet not slowing 'til he was quite close. The first truly interesting thing was when I spoke about Sherlock. "When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discrete, hence this place." There was an unmistakable flash when I mentioned the name. He was immediately on his guard just then, but more against me or his new flatmate I could not tell at that moment. I wondered what impression this was making on him; if he'd already been warned off my little brother by some of those odious policemen with whom he insisted on keeping company. Despite his discomfort with the leg, he refused to sit.  
>Good; a man of action.<p>

I hit play to continue listening to the recording from the meeting again. Though the events of this evening were still fresh in my mind, I had the meeting recorded for a reason. Wording and emphasis were important and their subtleties not always gleaned in the moment. And this was, and needed to be, a target-rich environment in my investigations.

"You don't seem very afraid."

"You don't seem very frightening." That he was frightened, against his claim to the contrary, one just had to see the rapid blinking and hear the quiet tightening of his voice, but overall he acquitted himself rather well. I had to ruffle his feathers a bit. If this man was to tolerate my brother, I decided I may as well start calling him an idiot right then. "Ah, yes. The bravery of the soldier. 'Bravery' is by far the kindest word for 'stupidity', don't you think?" Aside from a swallow and a further strengthening of his stance, there was no rise to my bait. Impressive.

Then I brought dear brother back into it. I needed to see if he would begin prevaricating and distancing himself, to try to get clear of this ambiguous mess he'd stepped in. I was again pleasantly surprised by his response. He answered truthfully that he'd only met him yesterday, but there was no scramble to disavow connection with him otherwise. I have been known to react worse than that myself, but then I have years of knowledge of things I should bloody well distance myself from when it comes to brother mine.

Romantic entanglement could engender this quick loyalty, and while I could not see it of Sherlock, perhaps this diminutive person was operating under false hope. There was certainly precedent for that; my brother was utterly clueless in all things romantic, but he was not without his physical gifts that attracted a select few to him all the same. Generally not a long-term concern as he would invariably open his mouth and utter forth sound, and it would be a self-resolving issue.

"... should we be expecting a happy announcement by the end of the week?" I'd asked the doctor fairly directly about his intentions toward my brother and an interesting thing began to happen. Not only was it plain that romance was not on his mind, but it gave him confidence. Until then, I suppose his military training and the recent association with the crime scene had his mind working toward a concern that he had been caught on one or another side of some legal business. That, and some of my dramatic touches, of course. The fact that I steered the conversation toward the mundane relationship question put wind in his sails that this was not, strictly speaking, an official inquiry. He took the moment to ask who I was, and began to question frankly why I was interested in Sherlock. Interesting indeed. He seemed to be now not only gathering information for his own benefit, but actually seemed to be feeling his way through to threat-assess me as regarded his flatmate.

My attention was directed back to the recording again. That's where the tide had turned. When the doctor had started on his tentative offensive in the warehouse, I had been a little startled. Now I could sit back and enjoy this interesting personality.

"Who are you?"

"An interested party."

"Interested in Sherlock; why? I'm guessing you're not friends."

"You've met him; how many 'friends' do you imagine he has?" Right there, he'd given me a most curious look. Introspective, thoughtful, but he pursed his lips and looked down and I could read in that look that he was, indeed, considering throwing his lot in with my little brother. I think he may have taken that comment as a challenge. This was good ... this was beyond imagining, really. He'd found my comment distasteful in the extreme. Time for me to give a little push into the odious, then. Something to get back to dear brother to keep him in the game as well. I couldn't very well make it look like I wanted Sherlock to associate with this man. He'd have an overly-fashionable bootprint on his backside straightaway.

"I am the closest thing to a 'friend' that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."

"And what's that?"

"An enemy."

"An 'enemy'?"

"In his mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'll probably say his 'arch-enemy'. He does love to be dramatic."

"Well, thank God you're above all that."  
>Cheeky. This one had quite recovered from the shock alright. He really showed himself to be quite an extraordinary individual, if in a very unassuming exterior. I believe I quite forgot myself there and was saved by a chime from his phone. Damned things; just like my brother. Even in an interview, paying attention to the things. I get correspondence of National import hourly and I still have the sense to turn the chimes off in a meeting. I must admit to being pushed to a bit of annoyance there. "I hope I'm not 'distracting' you."<p>

"You're not distracting me at all." No, but your blasted mobile is distracting you.

"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?"

"I could be wrong, but I think that's none of your business."

"It could be"

"It really couldn't."

So far, he was doing brilliantly. Now to put forth my next little test – to offer him the stipend to spy on Sherlock. It was offered in earnest; the man could certainly use the financial assistance. From my side, there was no losing answer. One - he accepted, and I got another source of information to keep tabs on the boy. For a time, this may prove useful. Eventually, the game would be found out as my brother is nothing if not paranoid of those who take an interest in him, and I would either be fed misinformation or it would sour the trust enough that the doctor would be forced out. Knowing my brother, the method might be a bit unpleasant for the man, but that would be a road he was paving for himself. Possibility two – he declined. And that would be a bit more dangerous for me, but I have gotten along fine without a Dr Watson so far, and if he was upstanding enough to turn me down in the face of his very real need, this could be an ally of the best calibre if groomed properly. I offered him the deal.

"In exchange for, what?" he had queried.

"Information. Nothing indiscreet, nothing you'd feel uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?"

"I worry about him. Constantly."

"That's nice of you." He clearly didn't believe that at all. There would be time to explain later, if he stayed in the saddle long enough.

"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a 'difficult' relationship."  
>This last was laying down the groundwork for our possible future. No reason to dissemble on this, and later he would find that had all been completely accurate. He clearly valued honesty, after all. His moment of deliberation and I was cheated from watching the wheels turn as he was distracted by the blasted mobile again. Sherlock, already trying to play with his new toy.<p>

"No." Swift. Decisive. Quiet. Unshakable.

"I haven't mentioned a figure."

"Don't bother."

"You're very loyal, very quickly."

"No, I'm not. I'm just not interested." Defensive. Quiet warning for me in that tone. While I appreciated its implications if used in my brother's favor, it was time to set the stage for our continued association. In any negotiation between powers, it is best that certain cards are laid on the table. Power struggles are messy when there is no clear dominance. Much better, then, to let him know where he was stood in this.

I let him know that I had access to his most private moments. Informed him that I knew of his therapy. I didn't need the surveillance to glean what I knew. It was quite obvious, but it certainly threw him off balance and gave him a glimpse of what I was capable of, without showing my hand that I could get most of my information about a man standing in front of me the same way Sherlock does. The relationship between my brother and I was sure to come out soon enough; it served my purposes he did not now know it.

His face darkened. "Are we done?"

"You tell me."

He tipped his head, realizing he'd been dismissed unless he wanted to reconsider my offer. He turned to break off the interview and started limping to the car. I felt I owed it to him, now that he'd got it to rights who was in control here, to ease his concern a bit. I had the hook in, I just needed to make sure it was well and truly set. Here was a prize worth landing, indeed.

I pitched my voice a bit louder at his retreating back. "I can imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." His pace slowed, and his curiosity warred with his irritation. He shook his head, then turned about as curiosity won.

"My what?"

"Show me." He thought better of it, then stiffly held it up in front of him. The cheeky bastard looked like he was warring with the desire to show me a "Harvey" instead of his full five fingers. I reached for his hand and he pulled it away.

"Don't." I recall giving him quite a look. Did I really have to remind him that I had just won this last little battle of wills; that I was, to all purposes here, his superior officer? He relented like a good soldier, this time with a more neutral presentation of his hand. I briefly touched the extremity and it was just as it had looked, steady as a rock. Not the barest hint of a tremor was palpable. The words from the surveillance recording continued to play in my office.

"Remarkable" He'd pulled his hand away quickly.

"What is?"

"Most people blunder 'round this city and all they see is streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?"

"What's wrong with my hand?"

"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand. Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."

"Who the Hell are you? How do you know that?" I was sorry to be so blunt, so personal, but it was for the greater good. He deserved this knowledge about himself that the therapist would never figure out. She wasn't privy to the truths that there were men like this in the world. That we all sleep more safely and soundly as a result of these rare innate protectors.

I allowed myself a conspiratorial smile. I believed then, and I am certain now, that I am starting to like this man. "Fire her. She's got it the wrong way 'round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady. You're not haunted by the war, Dr Watson. You miss it. _Welcome back_." There; my good deed done, the fish was landed in the boat.

I turned to walk away. "Time to choose a side, Dr Watson"

As soon as I strode out of sight, I sent to Anthea the text that had been blinking on my screen for the duration of the interview. 

**Tell him that you are to take him home. Use that word. Tell me where he directs you. - MH**

**He stared at his hand in the most peculiar way. Smiled. That mean something to you? - A**

**Yes. Let me know the usual on your way back. - MH**

**Told him I was to take him "home" like you asked. He asked for 221B Baker St. Have to make a stop at his old rooms first. - A**

**Went into rooms for a short while, came out armed (revolver, back waistband). - A**

**Just as expected. Let me know when he is safely deposited at the residence. - MH**

**Dropping him off now. He asked me if I could possibly not tell you we came here, then answered his own question by realizing I'd already told you. - A**

**I do believe he just hit on me, as well. - A**

**I may have created a monster. Come back to base. We need to make some arrangements to include our new friend. - MH**

Providence had left a very good piece of fortune at my brother's doorstep, and now it was just up to him not to bugger this up. Lord help the both of them.


End file.
